I’m sitting here drinking my second cuppa, trying to get going… Trouble is, I can’t focus on what I should be going to do… The garden is being well-hydrated by the rain gods and the plants don’t need me. I spent a lot of time doing housework last week and I’m not so much excited at the prospect of doing more (though there’s more to be done). I am reading a Perry Mason that is a lullabye-book, easy to put down. Casey is working 10-hour days, so I’ve got some time on my hands and it’s not nice to waste it…what’s the plan?
ooh-kay, how about we hit the road with a camera and see what comes up? How about I stop griping about the weather and get out into it, defy it, show it who’s boss? Maybe I could scour the countryside for places I’ve never been, set out without a plan, just a vague direction that gives my restlessness a chance to act out.
Or I could just sit here and think…think about people and relationships, about bills to pay and appointments to make; think about the grandkids and the kids; think about tomorrow and fall into the memory of yesterdays. Or I could Not Think: This season is great for going outside and listening, letting the sounds of the birds, tree-flies, frogs, even the triple-peep of the turkeys drive all thought from my brain. Out by the campfire ring, I sit on the picnic table and simply breathe, no thinking… Though I’m silent, I feel like I’m part of the choir.
But that’s not a plan, is it? I think I’ll clean up and get out. I’ll let you know it turns out…